Now that's more like it

The way I look at winter, as long as Nature's throwing us a cold-weather party, it might as well supply the decorations.

Let it snow.

I got my wish this morning, awakening to a landscape draped in a powdery blanket -- only a few windblown inches, but a welcome change from browns and grays.

The season's first real snowfall, greeting us as Sunday dawned, seemed to quiet everything. The only footprints outside my window are those of a rabbit, a pair of raccoons and a dozen wintering songbirds. Every now and then a car squeaks and crunches along the road, and overnight we heard the occasional county plow grind past, but otherwise our world is remarkably, gloriously silent.

This round of winter weather arrived yesterday afternoon, coinciding with my family's plans to travel north to celebrate a four-year-old's birthday. The 30-mile trip, mostly over Interstate highways, became something of an adventure and (naturally) a mild shakedown of our newly acquired SUV.

We held a steady, responsible pace, respecting the treacherous surface. The right-hand lanes were stacked with puckering motorists advancing at a crawl, while to our left drivers whizzed by without apparent caution, either ignorant of (or oblivious to) the road conditions. George Carlin was right:

"Anyone who drives slower than you is an idiot and anyone who drives faster than you is a maniac."

We saw many of those "maniacs" again later, of course -- spun into the median, wadded into guardrails and bridge supports, vehicles resting on their sides or roofs.

Sometimes, stupid hurts.

My family and I arrived at the birthday party, which was held at a suburban bowling alley, unscathed. (And yes, I executed several 4WD snow-donuts in the nearly empty parking lot, amusing our spawns.) The party was a pleasant departure from our everyday, and the drive home a few hours later was slow but uneventful.

An hour or so from now -- or whenever the rest of the family stirs from slumber -- our house will fill with the aromas of bacon and eggs, fried potatoes and fresh-brewed coffee. We don't often indulge, referring to this as a "special breakfast," but today strikes me as the perfect day to splurge.

I'll take my seat at the table, wrap my hands around a warm mug and gaze out the front window across the white, sunlit fields.

Special, indeed.

Sponge-cake Rorschach

"...the Twinkie is a dynamic, complex food system, where the proteins (flour, caseinates, whey, and egg) build structure and the fat and sugar (oils, emulsifiers, and sweeteners of many kinds) fight with that structure, in order to provide moisture and tenderness." (Steve Ettlinger, author of Twinkie, Deconstructed, in which he reveals that a Hostess Twinkie comprises 39 ingredients)

"Deconstructing the Twinkie is like trying to deconstruct the universe. Some people look at the sky and think it's beautiful; others try to count the stars." (Interstate Bakeries Corporation, maker of Twinkies, in a 2007 statement)

Muse before news

O.J. Simpson was sentenced today to at least nine years in prison -- and I couldn't care less.

I stopped caring when I was eleven, as I skipped out of the Rose Bowl after my beloved Buckeyes whipped his USC Trojans for the national championship. Everything that's happened since that moment is just another celebrity ego run amok.

I hold Fred Goldman, father of Ron Goldman, of whose murder Mr. Simpson was acquitted 13 years ago today, in equally low regard. Mr. Goldman and his family, whose grief and bitterness might be forgivable, have managed to elevate vindictive drooling to an art form.

Whether or not Mr. Simpson is "where he belongs" is, by now, entirely beside the point -- he is where he is. Honestly, I'm far less interested in his incarceration than in the prompt and permanent disappearance of the obsessive Goldmans.

And now the news.

Today the Detroit Free Press published a blunt opinion piece entitled, "A Message to Washington: Invest in America." It begins:

"You don't want an economic disaster on your hands. Not when you could have prevented it. And not in times that are already the worst in a generation."

To no one's surprise, the newspaper is rooting for the home team, wagging its editorial finger at Congress and demanding that American taxpayers bail out the "big three" automakers -- or else:

"You don't want all this blood on your hands. No one could."

"You can help them. And if you don't, make no mistake: There will be bleeding throughout the land."

Beyond colorful language and assurances that it'd be painful if one or more of the foundering automakers failed, the Detroit Free Press makes a poor case for a bailout, which Mark Zandi of Moody's estimates would cost as much as $125 billion.

(By the way, please don't call it an investment and, for cryin' out loud, don't call it a bridge loan. The only borrowing going on here is the mortgaging of our children's future.)

No bailout? Of course it'd hurt. The effects would be wide, deep and excruciating, making the current crisis seem like a relative hangnail.

A bailout would dull the pain, certainly, and if we believe that our government should be a fiscal pharmacist, doling out economic OxyContin, then sure, a bailout is the right prescription.

But it's not a cure. It won't heal an American auto industry that's seriously injured, perhaps even mortally wounded.

We're in the mess we're in, economically and otherwise, largely because we repeatedly avoid correct-but-painful solutions. Our nation needs fixing more than it needs another fix, and these auto companies, however iconic, must be allowed to fail.

Yes, it'll hurt. But as Chris Spielman, one of my favorite Buckeyes, is fond of saying,

"Don't tell me about the pain -- just show me the baby."

For us, "the baby" is what's on the other side of our agonizing commitment to making the right choices -- now. Our future depends on it.

Greed, progress & shame

I went to college in west-central Pennsylvania, just across the Ohio border. On trips to and from, Interstate 80 took me past the crumbling hulks of Youngstown's once-thriving steel industry.

It's an image I'll never be able to shake, one of the memories that fed the requiem I wrote several months ago.

As the heads of the "big three" U.S. automakers return to Washington today to plead for a $35 billion taxpayer-funded bailout, my mental picture of "Steel City, USA," silenced by greed and progress, shames their hybrid stunts and tardy promises.

* * *
Youngstown
by Bruce Springsteen (1995)

Here in Northeast Ohio
Back in 1803
James and Danny Heaton
Found the ore that was linin' Yellow Creek
They built a blast furnace
Here along the shore
And they made the cannonballs
That helped the Union win the war

Here in Youngstown
Here in Youngstown
My sweet Jenny, I'm sinkin' down
Here darlin' in Youngstown

Well my daddy worked the furnaces
Kept 'em hotter than hell
I come home from 'Nam worked my way to scarfer
A job that'd suit the devil as well
Taconite, coke and limestone
Fed my children and made my pay
Them smokestacks reachin' like the arms of God
Into a beautiful sky of soot and clay

Here in Youngstown
Here in Youngstown
My sweet Jenny, I'm sinkin' down
Here darlin' in Youngstown

Well my daddy come on the Ohio works
When he come home from World War II
Now the yard's just scrap and rubble
He said, "Them big boys did what Hitler couldn't do"
These mills they built the tanks and bombs
That won this country's wars
We sent our sons to Korea and Vietnam
Now we're wondering what they were dyin' for

Here in Youngstown
Here in Youngstown
My sweet Jenny, I'm sinkin' down
Here darlin' in Youngstown

From the Monongahela Valley
To the Mesabi Iron Range
To the coal mines of Appalachia
The story's always the same
Seven hundred tons of metal a day
Now sir you tell me the world's changed
Once I made you rich enough
Rich enough to forget my name

In Youngstown
In Youngstown
My sweet Jenny, I'm sinkin' down
Here darlin' in Youngstown

When I die I don't want no part of heaven
I would not do heaven's work well
I pray the devil comes and takes me
To stand in the fiery furnaces of hell


Founded in 1900, Youngstown Sheet and Tube once ranked among the world's largest steel companies. It ceased operations in 1977. Towering above its flagship plant in Youngstown was the Jeanette blast furnace (left) -- the "sweet Jenny" of Springsteen's lyric -- which was demolished in 1997. (Harold Finster photo, 1992)

How to know

Lurking under the dashboards of our cars and trucks is a mysterious, multi-pin plug -- it's the industry-standard OBD-II (on-board diagnostics) port.

Unless we're among the savvy few who drive around with laptops docked to our vehicles, we have no use for OBD -- until the "check engine" light comes on, and then our mechanic plugs in, downloads data, and gives us the (often bad) news.

I don't like being dumb about what's going on inside my cars' black boxes, and I especially hate having to pay $60 for an hour of high-tech troubleshooting. A few years ago, a friend recommended I try something called a CarChip.

The CarChip (MSRP $120, street $80), made by California-based Davis Instruments, is a small digital recorder (about the size of a pack of gum) that plugs into a vehicle's OBD-II port and captures up to 300 hours of data. After driving a little or a lot, the user unplugs the CarChip, connects it to a PC via a USB cable and downloads the recorded data -- a simplified version of what the dealer's mechanic does -- which can be displayed as tables or graphs.

The user gets to choose up to four of 23 possible OBD parameters for the CarChip to monitor and record. (Vehicle speed is always monitored.) In addition, the CarChip logs "trouble codes," as well as sudden stops and starts. Most parameters have thresholds that can be set according to personal preferences and vehicle specs.

I'm not exaggerating when I say that the CarChip represents the best eighty bucks I've ever spent on my vehicles. Often I've spotted trouble before it causes serious problems. Twice I've been able to learn the reason for the appearance of the "check engine" light and have taken care of it myself. And when I've had to delegate work to a qualified mechanic, it's been nice to have certain knowledge of what my vehicle's been doing.

As I said in yesterday's post, I've been pleased with the performance of the Chevy Trailblazer I bought used in October -- and thanks to the CarChip, that's more than just a seat-of-the-pants impression. I've asked the little gizmo to keep tabs on coolant temperature, battery voltage, fuel pressure and such, and so far, all is well.

(It's also easy, by the way, to surreptitiously slip the CarChip into a 16-year-old spawn's car and bust him for doing 90mph in the 25mph zone up the road. Trust me on that.)

Yes, there are other, similar gadgets on the market, but the CarChip works for me. You may consider that a recommendation.

Bugging: The everyday BOV

Whenever the subject of "the ideal bug-out vehicle" comes up, I'm always amused at how many folks envision something like this:

Such a civilized beast is undeniably capable and admirably self-contained -- as well as horribly inefficient and dangerously ponderous.

Most of us live in the real world. Not only is the GlobeCruiser well beyond our means, we can't even justify dedicating a separate vehicle to the BOV role.

Pursuing the ideal wastes time, or at least it spends time poorly. As I wrote some months ago, "the right stuff" is the stuff we have when we need it. On knives, for example, Mike Stewart of Bark River Knife & Tool said it well:

"The best bushcraft knife is the one you have with you and is best suited your needs and style of use -- not the needs of somebody that wrote a book on bushcrafting."

So if and when we decide to "bug out" -- whatever that looks like, whatever the reasons -- we'll be doing so in the same vehicle we use to commute to work, shuttle our kids and haul groceries. That's a bargain we strike with our everyday lives, and when the SHTF, wishing for something perfect is futile.

When I acquired a 2005 Chevy TrailBlazer in October, I speculated that "it might even be a worthy BOV." After a thousand miles, I've found it to be nimble, roomy and relatively fuel-efficient for its size; its conventional four-wheel drive and respectable ground clearance are bonuses.

As-is, it works.

That said, I'm going to do what I can -- cost-effectively and without transforming a plain-Jane SUV into some cobby Mad Max chariot -- to make it better. It still has to do its duty as a family wagon, but I believe that a handful of improvements can round it out. Here's what I have in mind.

1 - Reliability
The world's most capable vehicle becomes useless the moment it breaks, so my first task will be to perform routine-plus maintenance, stem to stern. In my experience, that's especially important when buying used, and even though mine is a "certified" vehicle, I'll change every fluid and replace every filter. I'll check each hose, belt, function and circuit. Even the wiper blades will get replaced.

2 - Efficiency
So far, this particular truck is giving me a full-to-fill range of about 300 real-world miles. I won't go crazy with exhaust and engine mods, but I want to see what a better air-filter element, new spark plugs and a squeaky-clean throttle body will do for fuel efficiency. I'm also researching the potential benefits of re-programming the powertrain control module (PCM). My goal is to bump the range to 350 miles.

3 - Communications
When the SHTF, it's likely that mobile-phone networks will be jammed, or even down entirely. Beyond the factory in-dash AM/FM, we already have short-range GMRS radios, a hand-held scanner and a compact shortwave set (with accompanying antennas and 12V adapters, of course). I expect to add a small CB transceiver to this vehicle, probably one of those all-in-handset Cobras with the NOAA weather feature. Information is power, especially in an emergency, so the idea is to have reliable ways to listen, not just talk.

4 - Lighting
My TrailBlazer is the base "LS" model, equipped only with conventional lighting. After replacing the 60W high beams with 100W bulbs and swapping for higher-output elements in the rear, I'll add auxiliary lights at both ends. I also expect to install supplemental hazards and an under-hood light. I'll go with power-conserving LEDs wherever practical, and all will be controlled via switches set into a factory blank on the dash.

5 - Undercarriage
I'm not building the ultimate off-roader, so there will be no lift kits, no heavy under-body armor. I simply want the important belly bits -- radiator, oil pan, transfer case and fuel tank -- to have a measure of protection if I need to detour, say, onto a rail bed. For that, the inexpensive four-piece kit offered by the factory will do just fine.

6 - Towing & Recovery
With 275hp and a matching torque number, the inline-six has enough power to get the TrailBlazer out of most trouble, or to pull something else of reasonable size (and reasonable stuckness). Both towing and recovery require attachment points -- two standard-equipment tow hooks serve that purpose in front, and I'll add a D-shackle "hitch" to the receiver in back. Simple.

7 - Safety & Power
A fire extinguisher will be mounted in the cargo compartment, along with our 400W power inverter. I'll install a 12V accessory outlet near the rear hatch opening.

8 - Up on the Roof
File this one under "nice to have" -- a safari-style cargo rack, bolted to the existing roof rails. It wouldn't be attached permanently, and it's probably unnecessary for anything short of a bona fide expedition, but it's on my wish list.

9 - Tires & Wheels
Also on the list is a set of mild all-terrain or mud-and-snow tires, mounted on an extra set of wheels. I'll wait to see how well the current set of all-season tires performs in the snow this winter before deciding if this item stays or goes.

The Rest
Notice that there's no mention of a brush guard -- this everyday BOV still must function as family mule, and I'm not interested in adding extra weight. I don't think I'll need a guard to mount extra lights, but if I do, it'll be a minimal safari bar.

How about GPS? Sure, but like mobile phones, GPS might not be there when the SHTF. There’s no substitute for good old-fashioned paper maps, and we carry a bundle of current ones, along with a compass.

Since this late-model Chevy comes with a large serving of electronics, tin-hatters probably won't like it, what with its vulnerability to EMP and all. (Whatever.) If we're talking TEOTWAWKI, however, the GMT-360 platform does have a benefit: availability of parts.

Millions have been built and sold since 2002, in two versions and a dozen trim levels under six different badges, so its "pick'n'pull" potential is significant. Hell, I just got back from my regular "school bus" run, mostly rural-residential roads, and I counted 22 -- in ten miles.

In the end, my TrailBlazer probably will never be called upon to serve as a BOV, and that's fine -- better to have it and not need it, as they say. The changes I've described will make it a more capable vehicle anyway, even in its vanilla, everyday role.

An early-December ramble

By some loose definition, it's a snowy day.

The air is full of fat, fluffy flakes. Across the fields, the woods are draped in a whitish haze. What little snow that does manage to stick collects along the roadside and dusts low spots.

Temps will top out in the mid-30s today, warm to near 50 tomorrow, and then fall back to freezing Thursday.

It's December in central Ohio.

Digging through my cold-weather kit yesterday morning, I found a pair of boots I've seldom worn. I paid dearly for them about five years ago, back when I had money to spend on such things.

Handmade by West Coast Shoe Company (or Wesco) in Oregon, they were intended to become a worthy addition to my motorcycle gear. Lacing up a pair of stiff 14-inch lineman's boots before a ride, however, usually lost out to slipping on my soft, well-loved westerns -- thus the disuse.

Seeing those nearly-new boots sitting in the back of my closet seemed a shame, so I lifted them out of their hiding place, brushing a layer of dust off the smooth black leather.

Just turning them over in my hands reminded me why I bought them. Like hefting that Blind Horse knife I picked up a few months ago, or catching a whiff of vigorously kneaded bread rising from stone-milled flour, there's unique pleasure in the craft of human hands.

I donned a pair of suitable socks and pulled the boots on -- no easy task, owing to feet that've grown larger over months of sprawling in sneakers. The first few hours in the Wescos were downright painful, but after two days they've become friendlier, and I plan to give them a few days' more attention. And yes, I have them on now.

I suppose I could've written today about something more significant -- Plaxico and his pistol, automakers submitting their plans to Congress, the stock market's gyrations, Sarah Palin's latest exercise in denial or President-elect Obama's cabinet choices. Perhaps I'm just weary, or maybe I don't have much to say about those things right now.

Or maybe it's simply that in this moment, nothing else is more significant to me than a gentle snowfall and a pair of good boots.

From 'The Daily Show'

The Daily Show With Jon StewartM - Th 11p / 10c

Mumbai Tragedy

Barack Obama Interview
John McCain Interview

Sarah Palin Video
Funny Election Video

Embrace the doubt

The last eight days have been college-football heaven. From nail-biters to blowouts, whether or not I had a dog in the fight, I've reveled in every single minute.

It's more than pageantry and tradition, rabid alums and bitter rivals. My love of the game rests solidly on the fact that every game matters.

Wins and losses. Suit up, line up, show us what you've got -- and next week, show us again.

Every game matters.

Enter the BCS, that lame expression of the human quest for certainty. Launched in 1998 to address the ritual hand-wringing surrounding the national championship, it's rarely worked as intended -- and it'll fail miserably again this season.

For evidence, look no further than the Texas-Oklahoma-Texas Tech mess in the Big 12. So is it time to trash a clearly dysfunctional system and replace it with some sort of playoff scheme?

Absolutely not.

I'm all for disbanding the BCS -- and I say that even though it gave my Buckeyes the chance to upset consensus favorite Miami in the 2003 championship game -- but I also accept that no playoff scheme will eliminate controversy. What's more, I'm here to suggest that doubt is good for the sport.

Football is a game played by humans, coached and officiated by humans, judged and attended by humans -- and wherever we humans go, controversy follows. Trying to reduce the result to scientific certainty is a fool's errand.

In the world of sport, big-time college football is uncertainty's last stand. We cheer, we care, we hang by the scoreboard because every game is either a stepping-stone or a potential knockout punch.

Win now, because tomorrow may never come. Week by uncertain week, the excitement builds.

When a 41-point underdog upsets the top-ranked team in October, it matters. When a feisty I-AA squad pulls off an impossible August win in The Big House, it matters. When a bunch of Ducks unexpectedly sticks a thorn into the Beavers' post-season plans, it matters.

From my seat in the bleachers, I maintain that uncertainty is absolutely essential to the passion of college football. Imprisoning joy in a formulaic cage may be human nature, but it's beyond me.

Saving presidents

It's the day after Thanksgiving, a.k.a. "Black Friday," the biggest shopping day of the year. Malls are jammed with people spending money they don't have on bargains that don't exist.

Been there, done that, not gonna do it again.

Some say that deflation will yield irresistible deals, but that's just hype -- our collective buying power has been shrinking right along with prices. Truth is, for most commodities and must-have holiday items, real prices haven't shrunk much at all.

I see no point in joining a stampede of retail sheep, so I'm staying put, doing some laundry, updating my family's emergency plan, tinkering on the motorcycles and watching college football. In fact, the WVU-Pitt "Backyard Brawl" just kicked off -- let's go Mountaineers.

Mostly, I'm going to avoid the crowds, keep my wallet in my pocket and enjoy this brilliant November day.

Saving precedents
My early-morning reading included today's column by George Will, in which he discusses the views of conservative Judge J. Harvie Wilkinson.

Judge Wilkinson posits that the U.S. Supreme Court's landmark Roe v. Wade abortion decision and its recent Heller v. DC ruling on the Second Amendment both are examples of judicial activism. One is more palatable than the other to conservatives, but each, according to this jurist, thrusts a politically subjective court into a legislative morass of its own making.

Mr. Will skillfully highlights the apparent contradiction and the resulting division among conservatives. His commentary is typically sound, but I want to expand on a few important points.

Today's conservatives mistake ideology for principle. Conservatism is an ideology, liberty is a principle, and the Constitution codifies the latter -- not the former -- in fundamental law. Making the distinction depends on something called intellectual honesty.

Mr. Will, whose thoughtful conservatism shames the mindless klaxons of talk radio, has that quality. So did former Republican presidential nominee Barry Goldwater:

"I would remind you that extremism in the defense of liberty is no vice! And let me remind you also that moderation in the pursuit of justice is no virtue."

Neo-conservatives, as they swing their ideological hammer at activist judges -- or even at William Ayers and Jeremiah Wright -- ought to admit that activism and "extremism," judicial or otherwise, are perfectly acceptable in pursuit of their agenda.
That'd be the honest thing to do, anyway.

I may not be a constitutional lawyer, but as a citizen I don’t subscribe to Judge Wilkinson’s premise. To me, the Second Amendment to the U.S. Constitution is clear and unambiguous:

"A well-regulated militia, being necessary to the security of a free state, the right of the people to keep and bear arms, shall not be infringed."

Article I of the Ohio Constitution (1851), by the way, is likewise straightforward:

"The people have the right to bear arms for their defense and security; but standing armies, in time of peace, are dangerous to liberty, and shall not be kept up; and the military shall be in strict subordination to the civil power."

What Mr. Will calls "a thicket of fine-tuning policy in interminable litigation" is the natural result of the court upholding a constitutional right that's been diluted, even decimated, by legislatures at all levels of government -- in other words, it goes with the judicial territory.

Further, Judge Wilkinson's correlation of Roe, which created a right, with Heller, which restored a right, falls apart in the face of a constitutionally guaranteed liberty -- the right of individual citizens to keep and bear arms.

Principle knows the difference. Ideology does not.

A partial list

Freedom.

Independence.

My loving family.

Digital photography.

The Spoonmaker’s work.

Graeter’s Pralines & Cream.

A clear conscience and a clear title.

Brave Americans who defend our liberty.

Power-company workers who pull double shifts.

An old pair of blue jeans and a trusty pocketknife.

Snow that always melts and traditions that never will.

Beanie Wells in scarlet-and-gray and Sarah Palin in Alaska.

The Ohio Constitution, the U.S. Constitution and the Bill of Rights.

Dogs with short memories and friends who never forget.

Two jars of homemade pickles still in the fridge.

Four-stroke engines and four-wheel drive.

Black coffee, dark beer and red wine.

A gallon of regular gas for $1.56.

Two days, two championships.

Small towns and big hearts.

MUTE, UNDO & DELETE.

Fresh chile peppers.

Castle Doctrine.

Motorcycles.

Freedom.

Thanksgiving's best

"Oh my God, they're turkeys! ... Oh, they're plunging to the earth right in front of our eyes! One just went through the windshield of a parked car! Oh, the humanity! The turkeys are hitting the ground like sacks of wet cement!" (Les Nessman, from "Turkeys Away")

"As God is my witness, I thought turkeys could fly." (Arthur Carlson)

Mumbai

Tonight in India, teams of heavily armed terrorists carried out an estimated ten coordinated commando-style attacks. Early accounts have 87 dead and more than 250 injured. The attackers are said to have targeted Americans and Brits, and reportedly they're still holding hostages.

It's only a matter of time before such events again visit our complacent shores.

Peeking under the TARP

Remember when Congress passed that outrageous corporate-bailout bill? It's being called the "Troubled Asset Relief Program," or TARP, the greatest act of socialized capitalism in American history.

Well, if the mere mention of "$700 billion" spikes your blood pressure, you might want to stop reading here.

The folks over at Bloomberg, like many of us, noticed that each day seems to bring news of yet another corporation benefiting from our government's ad hoc largesse, so reporters Mark Pittman and Bob Ivry decided to add up the numbers. Here's what they came up with: $7.76 trillion.

That's not a misprint. It is, in fact, more than ten times what Congress approved, an amount equivalent to 50% of everything that the U.S. produces in a year. It's also more than 25 times what it would take to pay off every red cent of individual Americans' bad mortgages and consumer debt.

Most important, it's nearly eight trillion dollars of our money, yours and mine. And this scatter-shot "fix" won't fix a damned thing.

Our elected representatives defied the will of The People in approving the original TARP, and now the Treasury and the Fed are defying an oblivious Congress as they throw billions upon borrowed billions at companies deemed "too big to fail."

It's time for this nation's biggest corporation to rise up and assert its own defiance. As citizens and voters, consumers and debtors, policyholders and shareholders, we have the power to redirect benefits paid for by The People, to The People.

Our inept government can no longer be allowed to be confident in our consent. Barons and bastions of corporate greed must be made to groan under a burden that we apply.

We, The People, can change the rules of American commerce and governance -- to be more accurate, we have the power to restore the rules. In doing so, we can reclaim our economy and our nation.

We must choose, we must act and we must persevere -- no blinking.

Run of luck

Shortly after McDonald's launched its dorky Monopoly promotion in September, I found myself holding a few game pieces. Half-hearted but hopeful, I decided to play the online version of the game.

I never expected to collect $100,000 -- and I didn't, by the way -- but when my marker landed on "Free Parking" earlier this month, I was told that I'd just won a $50 Shell gift card.

Fifty bucks' worth of gas? Cool. I printed the redemption form and mailed it the next day. I'll see my plastic prize sometime in January, and I'm hoping that gas prices stay where they are 'til then. Lower would be ok, too.

As I reported a few days ago, last Saturday my family trekked to the OSU area for the festivities surrounding The Game. My wife and I each took a turn on a wheel-of-chance, part of a Ford-Sirius "Tailgate Tour" setup we passed on our way to Hineygate.

All I got was a lousy t-shirt. Mrs. KintlaLake had a much better spin, however, winning ten $5 BP gift cards -- another $50 toward precious petrol.

Do I sense a trend?

Thumbing through yesterday's mail, I pulled out a holiday promotion from Dodge. Judging the colorful piece to be junk, I almost fed it to the shredder -- I'm not in the market for a new vehicle, and I traded my Dodge (etc.) on that used SUV that I picked up a month ago -- but something told me to open the flyer.

I was amused to learn that I'm "pre-approved by Chrysler Financial for at least $45,000" in financing toward a new Dodge. (When pigs fly.) Reading further, I found instructions for claiming a $50 Visa gift card, no strings attached -- all I had to do was walk into a Dodge showroom and have the dealer validate my certificate.

I waffled about whether or not to cash-in the offer, even though within the next hour I'd be driving right by the dealership where I'd bought my departed Dodge four years ago. I know these people, and I know how much they're struggling to stay in business right now. I hated to make such a selfish strafing run -- it just didn't feel right.

To make a long story short, I got over it. To ease my guilty conscience, I chatted with a couple of the guys for ten minutes or so, catching up on families, life and business.

"We're all starving here," a middle-aged salesman said, gesturing around the showroom, "but it's the same everywhere. I've never seen anything like it."

The sales manager validated my certificate without complaint. I drove off into the rainy night, filing my claim for the gift card online when I got home. It should arrive in my mailbox before the end of the year.

Yeah, I'll probably spend it on gas.

Sports medicine

You'll please excuse central-Ohio sports fans if we harbor an inferiority complex. We've earned it.

I'm not talking about the bumbling Browns and Bengals, the Indians or the Reds. In recent years, none of those teams has come close to winning our hearts, much less breaking them -- and besides, those Cleveland and Cincinnati franchises are too far away, really, to feel like home teams.

No, this is about a handful of oh-so-promising squads, nearly all of them clad in scarlet and gray, that have toyed with our optimism over the last two years.

The undefeated and top-ranked Ohio State Buckeyes football team entered the 2007 BCS National Championship game as a prohibitive favorite -- and was drubbed by Florida.

A few months later, OSU's men's basketball team made it to the NCAA Championship final and, like their gridiron brethren, lost to Florida.

The Ohio State men's soccer team took a run at the 2007 NCAA title, but lost to Wake Forest in the championship game.

Our hometown AFL franchise, the Columbus Destroyers, shocked the indoor-football world by reaching the 2007 Arena Bowl -- and surprised no one by losing to the San Jose SaberCats.

The football Buckeyes, again ranked #1 after the 2007 regular season, had a second-straight shot at a BCS championship, only to be denied vindication in the 2008 title game by LSU.

In the 2008 NCAA wrestling tournament, Ohio State finished second to champion Iowa.

A year after losing in the NCAA final, the OSU men's basketball team did win a championship -- the second-tier, sister-kissing 2008 NIT.

Is it any wonder that our battle cry is "We're #2"?

Then yesterday, the Columbus Crew delivered us a title. At this moment, it doesn't matter that Ohio State football still reigns supreme in this city, that the Clippers have been here longer or that the Blue Jackets have more fans.

A Columbus team is bringing home a national-championship trophy.

For millions of sports fans, even those of us who don't care much about soccer, that MLS Cup is soothing salve. Although our celebration won't compare to what followed the Buckeyes' 2003 BCS National Championship win, right now we're busily digging through our closets for something black-and-gold to wear -- and then, by god, we're gonna party.

Champs!

I'm not a big soccer fan, but I am a homer.

This afternoon, the Columbus Crew beat the New York Red Bulls 3-1 to win the Major League Soccer Cup. It's the first MLS title in the Crew's 13-year history and the first pro-sports championship for the city in a decade -- by far the biggest ever.

So let's review: Yesterday the football Buckeyes beat arch-rival Michigan, and a day later the futbol Crew -- "America's Hardest-Working Team" -- won the Super Bowl of U.S. soccer. In this sports-crazed city, I won't be drawn into a debate about which matters more in the grand scheme of things.

All I know is that our team won again today, and that's enough to make this homer proud as hell.

(The) Gameday

A few minutes before five o'clock this morning, I squinted at the thermometer.

Twelve degrees.

I suppose if you live long enough and spend enough time outdoors in cold weather, sooner or later you'll figure out how to dress yourself. I wasn't worried so much about my own comfort -- I was more concerned about our spawns, but hey, this is how they'll learn what I've learned. Besides, by the time we left the house, the mercury had climbed to a balmy eighteen degrees.

We started our gameday earlier than usual because today was OSU-Michigan, The Game, and we knew that all of the parking lots would be full if we arrived at our customary time -- and we were right. But instead of ending up in a field next to the Olentangy River as I'd expected, we were directed into a paved lot smack-dab in the middle of "tailgate central."

The party scene itself was outrageous, not unlike many other college-football environs. The sight of tens of thousands of groggy grownups grilling and swilling at sunrise on a bitterly cold morning, though, made me laugh out loud.

We sat in the warm truck for a while, eventually emerging for the half-mile walk to the Holiday Inn for Hineygate. Along the way we passed dozens of vendors hawking the typical array of OSU souvenirs, hot food and the like. The biggest gameday of the year attracted a lot of corporate booths, too, most of them handing out freebies of one sort or another.

I don't drink rum, I don't drive a Ford, none of my vehicles burns ethanol, my satellite radio doesn't get Sirius and I prefer ESPN Game Day to FOX College Sports...but did somebody say "free"? Here's what a family of four can get just for showing up:

• Six t-shirts;
• Two shoulder bags;
• Two bottle-opener key rings;
• Two rubber wristbands;
• A deck of cards;
• A miniature football;
• Three doses of a quick-energy potion;
• Two coozies;
• Two mousepads;
• A package of solid-fuel charcoal substitute;
• A scarlet-and-gray "rally towel";
• A reversible "Go Bucks/Beat Michigan" placard;
• Three red foam-rubber "We're #1" mitts;
• A red foam-rubber pirate hat; and
• $50 in gas-station gift cards.

Yes, that's quite a haul, and no, I don't have a good explanation. For what it's worth, we passed up more giveaways than we grabbed -- no lanyards, no caps, no flashing pendants and absolutely no thunder sticks (perish the thought). I hiked back to the truck and stowed our booty rather than lugging it around.

I've written about the craziness of the Hineygate party in earlier posts, but nothing compares to a Michigan Hineygate. The crowd is bigger and rowdier, the band puts on a better show and, probably most important, everyone shivering in that hotel parking lot knows that it's the last time we'll gather 'til next season.

The Danger Brothers were in rare form today, surprising us by bringing several guest players onstage -- two members of an old local rock'n'roll band, a portly guitar wizard, and a soulful audience member to belt out a Motown standard.

(Incidentally, I would've taken more photos of the festivities, but my camera's aging rechargeables kept freezing.)

Three hours after they struck their first chord, the band broke for The Game -- and since we didn't have tickets, we broke for the truck, choosing to follow the action on radio and, once we got home, on TV.

Wherever he is, Woody is smiling. This was his kind of day and his kind of game -- cold and dominated by a suffocating Ohio State defense. It was a thing of beauty.

I believe my fondest memory will be of senior quarterback and team captain Todd Boeckman coming in late and firing a touchdown strike to receiver Brian Hartline. Last year Boeckman led the Buckeyes to the national-championship game, but after three games this season he was benched in favor of freshman phenom Terrelle Pryor. By all accounts, the demoted Boeckman's leadership never wavered. That's one rare young man, and I'm glad that he got another moment, however brief, in the spotlight.

He left the field today to a standing ovation. Perfect.

My Morgantown missus wanted much more blood from F-Rod and the Wolverines -- for at least one jilted Mountaineer, a 42-7 smackdown wasn't quite humiliating enough. Still, I think she'll take it, and so will Buckeye Nation.

It was the largest winning margin for Ohio State over Michigan in 40 years and the third-biggest ever. The Buckeyes now have an unprecedented five-game win streak in the rivalry, and Tressel runs his mark in The Game to 7-1. And this class of talented seniors -- even the fifth-year seniors -- is undefeated against "that team up north." What's not to love?

Just 363 days 'til The Game 2009.

Observation post

With our older spawn's car out of commission, I've been pressed into service as a part-time school-bus driver. First thing every morning, Mrs. KintlaLake drops off one spawn on her way to work and the other hitches a ride with a classmate. At 11am, I fetch our older spawn at tech school, drive him home for a quick lunch, and then shuttle him over to the high school by noon. Around 2pm, I retrieve first one and then the other, and we head back home.

This parental duty, which I'm glad to do, adds up to 60 miles a day. I'm also glad that the price of gas is staying low.

The drive-time offers certain benefits, like catching the spawns' moods immediately after a day of learning and socializing. I'm using my truck's satellite radio, tuned to "Bluegrass Junction," as a conversation-starter -- facing that kind of music, they start talking just to get me to turn down the volume.

For variety, and when time's not a concern, I've been taking different routes to the schools. I don't venture too far afield, but I rather enjoy zigging and zagging my way through our rural-suburbia and gliding across the expanses of farmland between here and there.

There's pleasure in noticing.

In more residential areas, I see that most of my neighbors, unlike me, have finished their fall chores -- leaves are picked up and lawn furniture is stowed 'til spring. Sadly, there are lots of for-sale signs. Empty houses, too. Not good.

As houses give way to farms, what I observe is more to my liking. I find solace in watching deer step through icy fields, as if practicing their footing for harsher days to come. I get a few moments' entertainment from a pair of mad chickadees, puffed up against the cold November wind, circling and perching, circling and perching just to stay warm.

Long views are longer this time of year. Now-leafless trees expose clearings hidden during warmer months, and I spy old houses, barns and outbuildings I hadn't noticed only a few weeks ago. This great, rich landscape seems to have grown larger while my back was turned.

In a field next to the road, a black-and-white barn cat stalks its prey.

This afternoon, the spawns and I detoured past a house that burned last night. It's just a mile down the road from us, so we'd heard the sirens as we drifted off to sleep. A big blue tarp has been draped over the charred wood where a roof used to be. It looks to be short of a total loss -- good news for a fortunate family.

Just before we pulled into our driveway, our older spawn announced an observation of his own -- the battle flag of the Confederacy flies from a tall pole in front of a nearby house. Free speech notwithstanding, in this time and place that's disconcerting.

There may indeed be pleasure in noticing, but not everything I see is wholly pleasant. Now I have some "research" to do.

Tradition's Eve

"Because I couldn't go for three." (former Ohio State football coach Woody Hayes, after the Buckeyes' 50-14 win over Michigan in 1968, on why he went for a two-point conversion with a 36-point lead and 1:23 to play)

"Men, this is war. I don't give a damn about the national championship or the Big Ten championship, but if we win this game today and, afterward, if the Good Lord says, 'Woody, it's your time,' I'll say, 'Lord, I'm ready.'" (Woody Hayes, from his locker-room speech before OSU's 21-14 win over Michigan in 1975)

"I can assure you that you will be proud of your young people in the classroom, in the community, and most especially in 310 days in Ann Arbor, Michigan, on the football field." (Ohio State football coach Jim Tressel, speaking at halftime of an OSU-Michigan basketball game on January 18, 2001 -- the day he was hired -- in what's become known simply as "The Promise." Tressel's record against the Wolverines is 6-1.)